


Two to Tango (Three to Fight)

by Rothecooldad



Series: flashfic rovember [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, FAHC, Flirting, Fluff, GTA AU, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Origin Story, at least i say it is, honestly @ lindsay: step on me, idk what other tags to put man, lindsay likes em loud and fighty, underground fighting, we love a healthy polyamorous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothecooldad/pseuds/Rothecooldad
Summary: “And if I refuse?”Michael smiled at him, teeth bright in the dim light of the neon sign flickering above them.“You won't.” Came Jeremy's answer, though not from Michael.





	Two to Tango (Three to Fight)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are based upon the internet personalities portrayed by members of Achievement Hunter and in no way are meant to reflect the lives of the actual person or persons themselves.

Wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, Jeremy cleared away the left over blood, and took a long drink from his water bottle. The cool liquid felt like heaven on his parched throat, and he gulped greedily. He was sweaty, sore, and exhausted as shit, but he still had that accomplished feeling of a night well fought keeping him upright until he made it back home and into his bed.

 

“Give 'em a shot next time, eh tiger?” Lou chuckled, passing over his winnings. He was a kind man, late fifties and easy going. Hardly looked like he could hurt a fly. Not the kind of guy you'd expect to be running an illegal fighting ring in his gym after hours, but then again, what better cover? Didn't fool Jeremy, though. Lou was as cutthroat as the rest of them.

 

Jeremy just grinned lazily, swollen lip stinging, and pocketed the cash. 

 

“See ya next week, Lou.” He waved at him, heading to the door that led out back. Jeremy nodded to some of the regulars as he passed, steadily ignoring any that might have seemed pissed. He didn't have time for sore losers.

 

“Hey, kid.” 

 

Jeremy whipped his head around, scanning the dark alley.

 

A man stepped out of the shadows, pushing away from the brick wall he'd been leaning against. He looked like he couldn't be more than a few years older than Jeremy, and, although his face didn't ring any bells in Jeremy's head, he still felt oddly… familiar. Jeremy was immediately on guard.

 

Strangers waiting up after a fight was almost always a bad sign. Usually angry about the outcome of a bet, and looking to take it out on the fighters they saw as the ‘ _ problem.’ _

 

More than a few of the people Jeremy had gotten to know at the gym had ended up in the hospital from similar situations. A couple not making it pass the morgue. Hadn't happened to Jeremy yet, but it was only a matter of time.

 

Jeremy squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest before responding.

 

“Who're you?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, unafraid.

 

“The name's Michael.” The man --Michael, apparently, if he was to be believed -- said.

 

“Jeremy.” He told him, debating a moment before cautiously holding out a hand to shake. Jeremy didn't let down his guard, but it never hurt to be polite. Also didn't hurt that Jeremy had already gone over four different ways to take down an opponent in this position.

 

When Michael didn't copy the gesture, Jeremy let his hand drop, taking a large step back. Fuck the pleasantries, then. 

 

“Saw your moves back there, kid.” Michael tilted his head toward the gym. Jeremy perked up, curious despite himself. “You're pretty damn good.”

 

“Um, thanks, I guess.” Jeremy, slightly more at ease, toweled off his still sweaty forehead, hanging it around his shoulders. “Haven't seen you around here before.”

 

Michael shrugged.

 

“I've been around. Enough, at least, to see that you know what you're doing. Leagues better than the rest of these assholes.” He gave Jeremy a once over, his eyes raking over the sweatpants and ratty tank Jeremy was wearing. He dragged his eyes back to Jeremy's face and winked. “S'fucking impressive.” 

 

“Is that-” Jeremy paused, confused. “Are you hitting on me? Like, is this you asking me out or something?” 

 

Michael shrugged again, tilting his head to the side.

 

“I'm not  _ not _ hitting on you.” He smirked.

 

And that was. Huh. Unexpected. 

 

Jeremy's eyes widened as his brain fought to catch up with the statement. Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Michael was still mostly in the dark, but Jeremy could see well enough that he could tell Michael definitely wasn't hurting in the looks department. 

 

Before Jeremy had a chance to reply --or even attempt to form a coherent thought, really, his brain filled with static -- Michael continued. 

 

“Unfortunately, this meeting is more for business than for pleasure.” Jeremy deflated, but nodded. That sounded more like what he'd been expecting, even if he'd let his mind wander to different possibilities for a moment. He'd almost let himself forget where they were.  “I -  _ we,  _ we being my crew and me, have been looking for some muscle, and I'm pretty sure you'd fit right in. So, how's about it? Feel like upping the ante?” 

 

Jeremy froze, suddenly aware of just  _ why  _ Michael had felt familiar. The jacket should have been a dead fucking giveaway, which was probably why Michael had stayed hidden for so long.  _ Holy fuck.  _

 

If _ Michael _ was  _ Mogar _ , then he had to be talking about The Fake AH Crew. Jeremy swallowed, mouth dry again. Stalling for time, Jeremy took another long drag from his water bottle, thinking. 

 

The Fakes wanted  _ him?  _ That was, well, flattering, actually. And fucking crazy. They were biggest crew in Los Santos, real high profile fucks that nobody wanted to mess with, not if they valued their lives. And they wanted _ Jeremy _ . 

 

But did Jeremy want to go? He wasn't sure. Underground fighting was one thing, but this? Michael hadn't been joking when he said Jeremy would be upping the ante. This was so much more. 

 

Michael waited, surprisingly patient, for Jeremy to answer. It was offered as a question, but they both knew there really wasn't a choice here. Still…

 

“And if I refuse?” 

 

Michael smiled at him, teeth bright in the dim light of the neon sign flickering above them. 

 

“You won't.” Came Jeremy's answer, though not from Michael. 

 

There was something predatory in the way the woman stalked up to them, self assured in the way that one could only be with the knowledge that they were the deadliest one in a room. Or a dark alley.

 

“Trust me.” She told Jeremy, red lips upturned in a wicked grin. “That would be a  _ very  _ bad idea.” 

 

“Noted.” Jeremy was proud that his voice didn't break. Because,  _ fuck,  _ if these were The Fakes,  _ this  _ was…

 

“Ruby.” She held out her hand, and Jeremy would have been stupid not to take it. “Lindsay, to you. After all, we’ll be spending  _ plenty _ of time together.” 

 

And Jeremy had been flirting with her husband.  _ Fucking good one, Dooley. _

 

Lindsay let go of his hand, stepping back to inspect him. Jeremy stood up straighter, suddenly far more aware of the danger he was in than when it was just Michael.

 

She circled him, dragging her nails feather-light over his muscles, and Jeremy had the distinct feeling that she was testing him like she would test the ripeness of a piece of fruit at the store. It was unnerving, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been flexing surreptitiously, wanting to impress her.

 

“You're the new recruit, huh?” She was talking to him, but Jeremy knew better than to speak out of turn. Not to mention the grip she had on his chin, turning his head this way and that, made it impossible to answer. 

 

With a last caress of his cheek, Lindsay dropped her hand, turning to Michael.

 

“I like him.” She announced cheerfully, and Jeremy nearly passed out from relief, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

 

“‘Course you do.” Michael snorted, stepping forward and wrapping his arm around her waist. “You have a type.” 

 

Lindsay simply smiled, leaning into the embrace. Jeremy couldn't help but think that they made an unfairly stunning couple.

 

Eventually they turned back to him, clearly expectant, and Jeremy sighed. 

 

“Yeah,” he told them finally. “Yeah, alright. I'm in.” 

 

Clearly the correct answer, and the grins they turned his way nearly blinded him. 

 

“We'll be in touch.” Michael told him, turning to walk out of the alley. He paused, waiting for Lindsay, who had taken a step toward Jeremy again.

 

“We'll have to put a raincheck on that date, darling.” She said, smirking down at him. “Gotta see how you do first. Don't worry, though. I have high hopes for you.” Lindsay winked, taking Michael's arm.

 

Jeremy wasn't sure which of that to unpack first. Date?  _ We?  _ And, oh God, he might be a Fake now? It was all a blur in his still exhausted head, so all he could do was nod dumbly at the two walking away from him, hand in hand.

 

He was sure of one thing, though. Lou wouldn't be happy with him.

 

_ Maybe he could get one of The Fakes to tell him? _

**Author's Note:**

> been meaning to make that old fic dooljoneses anyway tbh  
> love those babes  
> come hmu over @ [ jeremwood ](https://jeremwood.tumblr.com)


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